Morning After
by Aleda
Summary: Written before Harbinger; a morning after scene written for fun, not connected to anything.


Disclaimer: If I was making money off of this, not only would I maybe be able to afford for you to sue me, you might even get something out of it. But since I'm not, there's really no point.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Genre: Romance, Angst, Comedy  
  
Archive?: Yes, but please let me know. (medalsia@hotmail.com)  
  
Author's Note: This was written before Harbinger, and is no longer a plausible "morning after" scene, but I had fun writing it and readers said they really enjoyed it so, I'm posting it for fun. :D This is not connected to either of my other two fics recently posted.  
  
"Morning After"  
  
There was no sudden awakening this morning, no rude beeping of an alarm set the night before. Only warmth, like the warmth of the summer morning sun shining in through the window on his body, and the luxurious sense of being buried in down blankets. Trip didn't even stir or open his eyes as he slowly drifted up towards consciousness.  
  
The world around him solidified. The air did not smell of Florida sand and everglade marshes; it was sharp and stale, tinted with the smell of air recycling filters. The warmth was a soft body pressed against his, but this was no less comforting. He still held the small frame, and could feel smooth skin against the fore of his arm, moving slowly, repetitively as she breathed.  
  
He opened his eyes. The night before had not been a dream, as he briefly had feared. T'Pol lay with him, her arms wrapped around him, her legs entangled in his, and her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He could barely see her face. Never before had he seen her sleep. Her expression was not vacant, but reflected his own peace. He pulled back slightly, letting her head slide to his arm – he wanted to see her. But she shifted in her sleep, finding him again. Her arms slid further around him, her legs sliding against his, and she nuzzled briefly against him, more entangled now than she had been before.  
  
Nuzzled. A grin spread across Trip's face. That was never a word he would have associated with T'Pol.  
  
Sometimes the surprises of the morning after were almost as good as the surprises of the night.  
  
He ran his fingers gently up and down her back, caressing her spine. The touch brought her to consciousness. She stirred slightly against him, the brush of her eyelashes against his neck telling him she had opened her eyes. Almost immediately there was a change. She didn't stiffen quite, but he could feel her tense slightly with a cat-like anticipation of needing to react at a moment's notice.  
  
He didn't worry. He knew this was her usual way. He could see it when she walked, when she moved, when he had touched her during neuropressure. It was power and control which coursed through her strong Vulcan body, not tension.  
  
She retreated some, pulling her arms from around him, and looked up at him. Not all the peace had vanished from her face, but it was joined now by the ever-present awareness in her eyes.  
  
"Hi," he murmured, giving her a small smile.  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"No idea... It feels early."  
  
She laid her head back down against his arm, her gaze dropping to his chest, deep in thought, and he felt a niggle of worry. Was she regretting last night? Was she ashamed?  
  
"Vulcans don't have sex with anyone other than their mate, do they?" He hated to ask the question. But he needed to know.  
  
She glanced up at him briefly, surprise and uncertainty registering subtly on her features, and he could see he had hit the mark. "No. They don't." A heavy pause hung in the air. So many thoughts, so many things she wasn't sure if she wanted to say. What would he think? The night before had been wonderful, but now they were hitting the aftermath of their two conflicting cultures.  
  
He broke the silence. "Last night was your first...?"  
  
She looked up at him and this time did not look away. "Yes."  
  
Trip frowned, raising himself up onto an elbow. Did she feel she had betrayed her culture, her people?. Would she ever be allowed to marry now that she had been with him? Guilt washed through him, and he couldn't look at her. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking... I should have been thinking... I didn't mean to make you do something you'd regret..."  
  
She too raised herself up onto an elbow and with a hand she made him meet her even, steady gaze. "I regret nothing." He looked down, examining the bed sheets with an almost Vulcan-like obsessiveness, not quite believing her. "I would do it again," she whispered, her voice low. "I will."  
  
He caught the change in tenses, and looked back up.  
  
"T'Pol..."  
  
"Last night, you asked me what I wanted. I answered truthfully." To his surprise, she sat up and, leaning forward, kissed him gently. "Vulcans do not lie."  
  
He chuckled, reassured, and returned the kiss, deepening it. He wrapped his arms around her, and she returned the gesture, moving closer to him and pressing her body against his, reawakening in him his thirst for her. He guided her down, on top of her. She pulled out of the kiss and looked up at him. "Do you know what else Vulcans do not do?" she asked, and he could see the teasing in her eyes.  
  
"What?" he smiled.  
  
"Mate the way we did last night."  
  
He laughed. "That's because that wasn't matin', darlin'."  
  
She looked genuinely confused. "Yes it was."  
  
"No, it wasn't."  
  
"By technical definition..."  
  
"What we did was hardly technical."  
  
"What would you call it then?"  
  
He leaned down and kissed her, murmuring against her lips, "Making love." She returned the kiss.  
  
BEEP!  
  
Both of them jumped at the chime of the door. They looked at each other, horrified. Someone was at the door!!!  
  
BEEP!  
  
Frantically they both jumped out of bed, T'Pol throwing her robe on and Trip tossing on his skivvies. They rushed around the room, Trip grabbing their clothes discarded from the night before, T'Pol throwing the blankets back into place.  
  
BEEP!  
  
Trip rushed into the bathroom, hiding in a corner next to the door. Taking a deep breath to compose herself, T'Pol glanced back to see if Trip was visible, and, finding him not, opened the door.  
  
Malcolm Reed stood in the corridor, looking rather vexed and curious. Calmly, T'Pol greeted him. "Mr. Reed, I apologize. I was about to get in the shower, which is why it took me so long to answer the door. How may I help you?"  
  
"Captain wanted me to give you these reports..." he said handing them over. T'Pol took them and walked over to her desk, beginning to transfer the documents from the pads to her computer; Malcolm followed, stepping into the room. The door closed behind him. "And to see why you aren't on the bridge."  
  
T'Pol glanced at the clock on her computer screen, and swallowed. She made a mental note to never trust Trip's sense of time after only a few hours of sleep. "What time is it?" She asked non-chalantly.  
  
"0826 hours." T'Pol made no response. Malcolm stepped closer to the desk. "Sub-commander, is something wrong?"  
  
She looked up. "Apparently my computer malfunctioned. The time is incorrect and the alarm isn't turned on."  
  
"That's odd..." He tried to glance at the computer screen, but she was standing in the way.  
  
He was about to turn and leave when something caught his eye. "If that is all, Lt.—"  
  
"Is that a shoe?"  
  
"I don't know wha-"  
  
Bending down, he picked up a shoe far too large to be T'Pol's. A grin slowly spread across his face. "Now, this looks familiar." T'Pol was speechless, looking from the shoe to Malcolm as though hoping both of them would disappear. This only made the security officer's smile grow.  
  
He glanced around the room, then headed straight for the bathroom door. Helplessly, T'Pol opened her mouth to stop him, but could think of nothing convincing to say. Malcolm walked into the bathroom, seeing Trip immediately, pressed up against the wall next to the door, standing in his boxers with his arms full of both his and T'Pol's clothes, some of which had fallen to the floor, and his face frozen in horror of being discovered.  
  
Shaking with the effort of not laughing, Malcolm put the shoe on top of the pile of clothes in his friend's arm. "I think you forgot this," he said, and turned and headed for the door.  
  
Stumbling, Trip exited the bathroom after Malcolm. "Hey, wait!" he called, stopping next to T'Pol. Malcolm looked back at them from the door. "...You're not going to tell anyone... are you?"  
  
"Trip, the whole of engineering already knows you're late. The whole bridge knows T'Pol's late. I don't need to tell anyone."  
  
The look of horror on both of their faces as they looked first at each other, then back at Malcolm, was classic. Chuckling, he said, "See you guys later," and the door closed upon his exit. 


End file.
